explaining away the hat.
She should have said that a friend had lent it to her; that she had
bought it for half price at a sale. She had meant to show it to
William some night after his beer with a plausible story, but his
sudden appearance had upset her apple-cart, and the lie had slipped out
unawares. She wasn't afraid of William, she scorned him in her heart.
And now that little devil must keep it, for if she went back on her
word it would put William on the track of other little luxuries that
she squeezed out of his wages unknown to him--luxuries whose chief
charm lay in their secrecy. She felt ready to weep with vexation.
Instead she cried gaily:

"I've been tellin' them what a nice little 'ome they've got together.
I've seen plenty would be glad to start on less."

Partridge seemed not to hear his wife's remark. His mind dulled by
shock and misfortune, was slowly revolving forgotten scenes. He saw
with incredible sharpness of view his first home, with its few sticks
of second-hand furniture like Pinkey's, and Pinkey's mother, the dead
image of her daughter. That was where he belonged--to the old time,
when he was young and proud of himself, able to drink his glass and
sing a song with the best of them. Someone pulled him gently. He
looked round, wondering what he was doing there. But Pinkey pulled him
across the room to Chook, who was standing like a fool. He looked
Chook up and down as if he were a piece of furniture, and then, without
a word, held out his hand. The reconciliation was complete.

"Well, we must be goin', William," said Mrs Partridge, wondering how
she was to get home without a hat; but Partridge followed Chook into
the kitchen, where a candle was burning. Chook held the candle in his
hand to show the little dresser with the cups and saucers and plates
arranged in mathematical precision. The pots and pans were already
hung on hooks. They had all seen service, and in Chook's eyes seemed
more at home than the brand-new things that hung in the shops. As
Chook looked round with pride, he became aware that Partridge was
pushing something into his hand. It seemed like a wad of dirty paper,
and Chook held it to the candle in surprise. He unrolled it with his
fingers, and recognized banknotes.

"'Ere, I don't want yer money," cried Chook, offering the wad of paper
to the old man; but he pushed it back into Chook's hand with an
imploring look.

"D'ye mean it fer Liz?" asked Chook.

Pa